The Body In Question
by Zarius
Summary: Fic prompt: Homer and Marge, dying of cancer, are given the chance to try out new bodies.
1. Open Surgery

**Author's Note:** Here you are retromania, your "Homer and Marge have cancer and try on different bodies" multi-chapter fanfic request!

**Chapter One: Open Surgery**

A peaceful afternoon in the Simpsons household, and Marge was hard at work keeping the house in order.

As she was vacuuming, she found an assortment of letters stashed under the sofa.

"Hmm, I'm used to finding dimes and dog hair under here, but never mail" she said.

She picked up one of the letters and discovered something that unsettled her.

"These are all calls for medical check-ups, Homer's been keeping his doctors' appointments from me, and he never usually does that unless..." Marge began, but cut herself off from this train of thought, for it only lead to calamity for her.

She needed to take her mind off of the letters. Homer was at work and the kids were at school, she had nobody to talk to, nothing to distract her.

And then the notion to watch television occurred to her.

Daytime highlights on the box, an invitation to a mind-numbing indulgence of continuous mediocrity from now to early evening.

But something much needed when facing the unravelling of her husband's fragile grip on mortality.

She channel hopped for over twenty minutes before settling on a medical soap opera on Channel K-P SYTCH 0.1. "_Medics Matter_", a trashy novella created chiefly as a comeback veichle for Rainier Wolfcastle.

"Listen Hilda, god doesn't make people better, I do" Wolfcastle said to the rather alluringly seductive female actress playing Sister Hilda Bergstrom.

"You're such a blasphemer Fredric Rahall, you leave me no choice but to cast the first stone..cold kiss" she said, fainting into his arms and gently placing her luscious lips on his.

"Oh come on, who writes this junk...I could do so much better" said Marge.

"Think you could do better?" the continuity announcer proclaimed as the cut to break occurred, "Then enter our _Medics Matter_ creative writing competition, script us seven days of sassy surgery and you could win a holiday to Barbados!"

Marge's eyes widened, relishing yet another opportunity for the Simpsons to head someplace, her eyes homed in on a typewriter lying in a small box of trinkets right next to the lamp. She had taken the box down from the attic during a morning clear-out.

Marge opted to again indulge her creative spark, and set to work on a manuscript.

Seven days, seven episodes.

She placed her hand on her heart, she felt no pressure.

Now was the time for surgery


	2. The Fright Zone

**Chapter Two: The Fright Zone**

After a few hours of feverish typing had gone by, Marge found herself facing a bit of a creative drought.

She had nothing to really say other than vent about the usual domestic squabbles she and her whole family got into on a routine basis. She didn't know how to channel that routine into something that made compelling viewing for a medical drama.

She considered writing about a boy suffering from a crushed larynx at the hands of an abusive father, but she wondered if that would force her to face an all too harsher reality.

The front door opened, the kids entered. Bart was trying to get a wad of chewing gum out of Lisa's hair. Not the first time that's happened to her either.

It wasn't a medical matter she could draw strength from. It was a repeat performance of a long played out manuscript of life, and there was enough at that being played out on television.

Homer followed them in, he looked less animated, long in the face, and breathing a little more laboured than was considered regular.

Marge had felt slightly winded herself lately, she had attributed it to extensive housecleaning, but something in the back of her head suddenly tried connecting it to Homer.

"H.I"

"Why say hi in initials?" Marge said.

"Hamburger. Intake" said Homer, requesting that he needed fed and quickly.

Marge sighed and put together his meal.

The creative writing contest still weighing heavily on her mind all through dinner and right through to very late evening where she would put the kids to bed and snuggle up next to her husband in the comfort of their own.

Homer noticed the manuscript on top of the dresser; Marge climbed into bed, put on her reading glasses and skimmed over a few pages.

"What in bill on capitol hill are you reading?" Homer asked.

"What in _SAM _hill Homer" Marge corrected him.

"You're reading a script, you've been bitten by the Hollywood bug, that's prime capital, my wording is justified" Homer spoke in his defence, somehow missing the phrasing difference between capital and capitol.

"Relax, I'm entering a competition for Medical Matters, if we win we can all take a big trip somewhere, I just can't figure out a convincing hook for my story though. When was the last time we had a big medical scare?"

"Oh I get it, you found the letters and this is the grand ol' intervention of New York".

"York, Homer, just York" Marge corrected him.

Homer huffed, folded his arms, and looked away.

"Homer, I wasn't going to press the issue tonight, I figured you were there today and that's why you were able to pick the kids up from school"

"Well, the issue's firmly pressed, so you might as well print it" Homer snarked, staring at the window and realizing he'd forgotten to close it. This being summer, not even a warm breath could silence the chill in his soul.

"Homer, tell me what's going on?" Marge said.

"Working in the plant lately has given me something the doctors say they can't get rid of. Cancer Marge, the Big C. No dancer, no prance, but CANCER. I have it, and they told me I might not be the only one with it"

"How do you figure?" Marge asked

"I kind of let it slip you worked at the plant for a time, they want you to come in and get checked"

"What about the kids?" Marge said, panic gripping her voice.

"How are _they_ involved?" Homer asked.

"Bring your son and-or-daughter to work day"

"AAHH" Homer yelled.

"Homie?" said Marge.

"What?" said Homer as he tried turning over.

Marge looked into his eyes with a dour expression; she put his hand in his and trembled

"Marge, you're shaking" Homer noted.

"I'm scared" said Marge.

Homer gathered her up in his arms and they embraced.


	3. Find Your Smile

**Chapter Three: Find Your Smile**

In the months that passed since the day of that embrace, Marge had herself checked out routinely, when the results came back for her and Homer, she must have spent the next couple of days in a tear-stained delirious haze.

She was dying, she and Homer both.

All Homer did to cope was eat more. He had to cut all alcohol out of his system; there was something more poisonous in him now than vast quantities of Duff.

With each session of chemotherapy, Marge lost bundles of her precious blue hair, to the point there was a vast doughnut-shaped hole in the middle of it whenever it was straightened up.

She would look in the mirror each day, the way her daughter Lisa did a year or so ago when she felt at her lowest, and she would look for a smile, to have one brought upon by a miraculous burst of hope.

A smile that would never come.

She made her way downstairs and contemplated house work, she considered not devoting the energy to it, but then remembered there was more in the house than just her and her husband.

She required the energy; she would demand it in spite of her illness.

Maggie, Bart and Lisa had requested their dad take them to the hairdressers for a special request, Marge seized the opportunity to put her forced drive to good use on the house.

Mid-way through cleaning it, she put the television on once more to catch the latest episode of Medical Matters.

And, again, the characters of Frederic and Hilda were subjects to the most banal drivel.

"I have a crisis on my conscience, but I simply cannot tell you what it is, you wouldn't understand" said Sister Hilda, openly weeping.

Rainier Wolfcastle, portraying Frederic, couldn't emote one iota.

"I understand my work, I can learn to understand yours" he said with a wooden and unfeeling delivery.

"I am having a crisis...of faith" said Hilda, who demonstrated little to no chemistry with the star.

"Put your faith in me my darling" said Frederic, and kissed her gently on the lips.

Marge sighed, a little irritated.

"This is_ insane_, there's no spark between them at all, all of the story's problems are on her, there's nothing they share anything in common with. If only there were some stakes to the relationship, something that Hilda could use to test how devoted she is to her own job and something that could humble this walking, unfeeling automation"

Inspiration briefly struck her, but it eventually was cast aside by the undiminished despair of her condition.

Could she risk putting together a story based on her and Homer's own experiences?

The door to the front door opened and Homer and the kids stepped in.

Marge turned and gasped at the look of their new haircuts.

They were bald. Each and every one of them.

Even Maggie.

"Whatever did you do to yourselves kids?" Marge replied.

"We wanted to show some solidarity Mom" said Lisa.

"Yeah, we're suffering for your sake just as Homer always suffers for ours" said Bart.

Marge's eyes welled up and she gave her kids a warm hug.

The kids were _fine_.

They were happy.

They were healthy.

And they were trying to have fun in order to spite a crisis that would cripple any other regular family.

Marge took to the typewriter and punched out a script. She would pour every bit of her family's ups and downs into this story, the fleeting bursts of optimism, the increasingly dour lows, and she would channel it into a seven day storyline that she hoped would make people aware of just what cancer means and how differently people cope with it.

She made her way back to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

And there it was.

She'd found her smile again.


	4. Something New Begins

**Chapter Four: Something New Begins**

Homer didn't want a big song and dance made about his and Marge's final days.

Springfield had different ideas.

As news of Homer and Marge's struggles reached far across the town, it had sparked mass debates over how significant the family had been to the community.

Some wanted to wash their hands of the family, having been taken to the wood chipper many a time through associating with them, others who had always given them the benefit of the doubt looked into giving them time, money, and their ear, letting all members of the family speak of their anxieties of the days and months ahead.

They gathered at the house tonight with purpose, they were here to say goodbye.

All the tests were done, all the doctors were gone, now was the time for friends and family.

Bart sat at the front door, letting people in, Lisa guided them up the stairs to the bedroom where Homer and Marge, now very weak and looking considerably thinner, lay

They barely had the strength to sit upright and greet their neighbours with warm smiles, but they commanded respect from everyone for making the effort.

As soon as Ned Flanders entered the room, Homer slumped back down, and tried to avert his gaze as he waved at him.

"Hidley-ho" he said, waving.

"Hidley-D'oh" Homer muttered

"Can't you show Ned some gratitude? He's taking in our kids when we pass over" Marge muttered to him.

"I can understand where Homer's coming from Marge, but he needn't be afraid, I'll keep a keen eye on your little angels, especially the one that could turn into a demon"

"You did so well looking out for Bart before that whole dome business, you have to forgive Homer for feeling a little envious about that, it's his job as a parent to step into those shoes, but he always has difficulty slipping into them"

"They're big shoes; I hope I can fill them" Ned said, hopeful for the task ahead.

"Homer, do you want to say something to Ned?" asked Marge.

Homer spotted Snowball II lying beside the bed; he picked her up, stuck his tongue out and allowed the cat to bite it.

Then he tried to say something.

"Cat's got his tongue, but I think what he's trying to say he thanks you" Marge said.

"Care for me to read you a few stories from the golden oldie testament?" asked Ned.

Marge took another gander at Homer.

"You don't want to know what he'd rather have the cat do to him than listen to that" she said.

Outside, Bart had finished letting everyone in and sat down to gaze at the stars, wondering if his parents would join them, and predicting that Homer would shoot back down to Earth.

He was joined by Laura Powers, his neighbour and big time crush.

"How are you keeping up champ?" she said.

"Mom and dad are the real champs"

"And together they made a big brave bundle of joy like you"

Laura threw her arm around Bart and held him close to her.

"How long do you want to stay out here counting how many are up there?" she suggested.

"The rest of my life" Bart said, giving her a fetching smile as their eyes locked.

"I can go for that too...keep waiting 'till then won't you?"

"Got a short while to go yet" said Bart.

"Whoever said life being short was altogether a bad thing?" Laura replied, and kissed him on the forehead.

In the living room, Lisa was looking through the family scrapbook, showing Maggie and Ralph Wiggum all of her parents better, healthier days.

"Your mommy's fat in a lot of those" said Ralph.

"No silly, she's just pregnant. With me" said Lisa.

"They hadn't let you out yet, you were still a prisoner"

"Inside of her, I was never more free, when I came out, it took me a while to process what it was like to be out in the world, I often felt like a prisoner as I grew up, everyone telling me what to do and how I should be"

"Then you were a man. James Dean" said Ralph.

Lisa giggled.

"Only with a cause" she said.

"Lisa...are your parents going to heaven"

"I'm a Buddhist, ask me that again"

"Will they come back?" Ralph asked

"Much better" Lisa said, preferring not to answer the question.

"I hope they do" Ralph said, prompting Lisa to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

Reverend Lovejoy entered the living room, beckoning Lisa and Ralph to the staircase. Bart was with her.

"They don't have much time, you'd best join them" he said.

Bart and Lisa entered the bedroom to find Homer and Marge lying as still as they'd ever been barely any strength or energy left within them anymore.

"Lisa, did you read the mail?" Marge wearily said.

"I checked it this morning, your script was approved mom, and they're going to film the episode in a couple of days"

"I don't trust them to pull it off, the actors are so dry" Marge said.

"Get me some water, I'd rather drown than die dry" Homer said.

"There's no time Homer, we're about to go somewhere we'll never want or need anything again, kids come here"

The kids clambered on top of the bed, Lovejoy handed Maggie over to Marge she cradled her sweet child one final time and handed her to Lisa and Bart.

"If you want to think we're over in Neverland, if you want to think we're somebody else, if you want to think we earned our place in line at the gates, then think, above all of that, that we'll always be looking out for you, until such time you join us. Know that wherever we are, your song will be always be sung by us"

"How much longer?" Homer said.

Marge smiled at him.

"That's up to the dawn" she said.

And as night turned to day, something ends, and something new begins, for everyone.


	5. As Young Grow Old

**Author's Note:** H Sorry it took months to get back to this, l had loads of ideas for other stories as well as a backlog.

**Chapter Four: As Young Grow Old**

"Homer? Homer, where are you?" Marge asked as she drifted through wisps of white, it was like being sewn onto a cloud. She could not feel her arms nor legs, yet she had a sensational feeling of freedom.

Something other than the physical self had a hand in this sensation.

She called out for Homer again. This time he answered.

"Marge" he said, beckoning her over to him

"Homey, oh my precious, you're alright" Marge replied.

"I'm alright, but duff light. I need a beer" said Homer.

"Drink from the blood of your saviours" commanded a loud and ominous voice speaking to them with the grace of a thunderclap.

"What if they're carrying covid?" asked Homer

"Not funny Homer" Marge snapped.

"Eh, I laughed. All you can do down there" came the booming voice.

"Don't say we're 'down there', things are meant to be looking up" said Marge.

The two looked around them as the bright white faded, the clouds they stood on turned grey, a dim light shone down on them.

"Where are we? What are we experiencing?" asked Marge.

"This is death, and you come to us as angels"

"Who are you? Show yourself" said Marge.

"My appearance is known to many of your human eyes, as young become old"

"The Hallmark channel?" Homer remarked.

"I am the heavenly body" the voice responded, finally taking shape before them, a stud of a being, made up of every different physical and sexual gender, an evangelical hermaphrodite.

"You have reached the end of one journey, but your next is just beginning, for this is where your souls will be reassigned to the next phase in the path you walk on"

"So, we're going to continue life in hell?"

"Earth, Homer, life on Earth"

"I rest my case" said Homer, folding his arms. Marge grumbled.

"You are not yet ready to walk amongst the divine, your souls will enter new bodies, you will lead new lives, and you will be granted new opportunities to put right what your previous experiences could not" continued the heavenly body, showing Homer and Marge a wide range of possibilities to select from.

"Oh look, a native American, how about it Pocahontas?" a seductive Homer said, his tongue sizzling at the prospect.

"This is all well and good, but what would really please me is a chance to make sure my soap opera script gets the proper enactment it deserves on television...now, if there was some way you could bend the rules, whatever they are, and temporarily assign me to the performer that has to read my script out, I can rest easy knowing my legacy as Marge Simpson lingers before millions of eyes, as young grow old"

"Just not billions" Homer corrected, "Wouldn't want to upstage the guy Marge"

"I'm not just a guy you know" said the heavenly body.

"What do you say Mr. Body? Will you grant me this opportunity?"

"On one condition, you take him with you" decreed the body.

"Me? What good could I be?"

"You can be my big action hero co-star" said Marge.

"Better that than your 'somebody's gonna roll me' all-star I guess" said Homer.

"It is decided, you will have three days allocated to you, complete your assignment in half the time and you may just be given a cushy future in running themed restaurants" replied the body

Wisps of energy encircled Homer and Marge little was left of their forms but they were able to fuse together, as if they were allowed to kiss, before both phased through the dark and shot down like broken stars to a Hollywood studio littered with them.


	6. Wildfire

**Chapter Six: Wildfire**

* * *

Lisa folded up the last of her mother's old clothes and placed them neatly into the suitcase, ready to seal it up and send it downstairs to be collected. Soon it would be on its way to the local charity auction at the church, where they would be sold off to someone in need.

Someone else would be wearing an old shirt, an old pair of shoes; somebody else would be substituting for the previous owner. Somebody would be, for a day, and for many days to follow, a Simpson.

Just as she was prepared to close the suitcase, she felt compelled to pick up the dress her mother wore and press it against her nose, taking in the linger smell of perfume, the scented nostalgia overwhelming her as she silently said goodbye, before placing it back where she put it.

Upon sealing the suitcase, she made her way over from the family bedroom to Bart's, only to find he was missing. She heard commotion downstairs, the familiar bells and whistles on the television. Krusty The Klown was just about finishing.

"Bart?" Lisa asked as she came down the stairs, she spotted her brother glued to the television screen, unusual given that the whole reason for staying firmly rooted to the spot was coming to a climax.

"Bart, you really need to be up in your room studying, it's rare that we're being let off school to grieve at the moment, but we need to be productive with the time given and catch up on all our homework, what are you even watching anyway? All that's on from now 'till four o'clock are soaps, quiz shows, panels and infomercials"

"I got a call from Flanders telling me Mom's story for '_Medics Matter' _kicks off today, the first few lines are spoken at the end as part of the cliff-hanger"

Lisa's heart skipped a beat; a sense of belonging overtook her, a need to belong in this moment, to be with her mother, from script to screen, her words on other's lips, her heart on other's sleeves.

She was gone from this world, but as the planet spun and turned, what she said would continue to matter in a manner not so...disposable.

These words would be archived, preserved on social media platforms, the moments become memes, the memes fuel the wildfire imagination of a thousand fans, which would fan the flames a hundred fold if not more for years and whole eras to come.

"Seek and you shall find" Lisa said, completing the sentencing of these quiet thoughts, much to the befuddlement of her brother.

"Plant your toosh on the ol' settee and from there you'll experience history" he insisted. Lisa did as instructed.

"Hey, you do the rhyme you do the time" Lisa muttered.

The minutes tick by, the children's' gaze turns towards the clock, counting down the minutes, their eyes closed off from most of the programme, waiting for the final five minutes upon return from the penultimate commercial break.

The final scene approached, the first lines would be spoken. A car pulled up at the medical facility displayed on screen, out stepped Rainer Wolfcastle.

Lisa was quick to take note of something.

"He walks a bit like dad does, is that normal for that actor?" Lisa asked.

"I believe you have a letter for me" he said to the nurse at reception.

"What's your first name?"

"I don't know"

And credits roll.

"Wow...there's that feeling you get of something familiar"

"Nostalgia?"

"I thought that was a perfume"

"Only in print Bart, smooth as silk on a spectre" Lisa uttered.


End file.
